Life Back Home

"We need to talk," the note began. "I'm not sure our present relationship is working. Please be available this evening at six o'clock. We simply cannot go on as we are."

There was no kiss at the end of the message, as there always had been in the past whenever Monica left a note for Rhiannon. She re-read the message, shuddering at the impersonality of the wording, and the stark message it conveyed.

How she got through the school day was a mystery to Rhiannon. At lunch time, she went to see Mrs. Harrison, to inform her that she would be going back to Wales at the end of school the following day, which was a Friday. Rhiannon planned on staying at her mother's home for the weekend, and visiting her in hospital on the Saturday and Sunday before returning to Surrey to resume teaching on the Monday.

Mrs. Harrison listened to what Rhiannon had to say, and shuffled uncomfortably in her chair.

"I'm really sorry about your mother," she began when Rhiannon had finished her explanation of her plans for the weekend, "but have you forgotten? This weekend is Year Nine's weekend at that outdoor adventure camp in north Wales. I informed Mr. StJohn-Howe of your circumstances. He's leading the trip, as you know. He said it was much too late for you to drop out now. So I'm afraid that you will be going to Wales, but not to see your mother, I'm sorry. You're down with Jill and Anita to supervise the girls who are going!"

It was all Rhiannon could do not to burst into tears there and then. She went out of Mrs. Harrison's office without another word, and went and sat alone in her classroom. Life, she decided, was a bitch. First this news about her mother, then she'd forgotten about the weekend away, and all she had to look forward to was going home to what she was sure would turn out to be another bitter shouting match between her and Monica.

"Oh, fuck it," she decided, putting her lunch box back into her bag unopened, and pulling out her cigar case. She lit up and blew her cigar smoke out of the classroom window, thankful that her classroom was at the back of the school, and that no pupils ever ventured around to that part of the school grounds.

When she got home after school, Rhiannon parked her car carefully on the left hand side of the double garage. She went into the house, removing her shoes in the front porch first, and made for the kitchen.

She filled the kettle and put out two cups and saucers. Milk went into the milk jug, and as soon as the kettle boiled, Rhiannon filled the teapot to warm it properly before making the tea.

She smiled nervously to herself as she heard Monica's car pulling into the garage, and set about making a nice fresh pot of tea for Monica and herself. By the time she heard Monica's key in the front door, the tea was made and brewing in the teapot.

"Hiya, Mon," she called. "I'm in the kitchen. I've made the tea. How was your day?"

Monica came into the kitchen and put her stylish handbag down on the kitchen table. She looked up and spoke to a point about two feet to the left of Rhiannon's shoulder.

"I thought my note made it quite clear," she said coldly. "Our meeting is scheduled for six o'clock this evening. Please try and stick to that arrangement."

Monica turned on her heel and went out without another word. Rhiannon heard her go into the front room and shut the door behind her.

Rhiannon sat down at the kitchen table. She was both hurt and angry. Why was Monica being such a bitch? Even when they played together, and that was increasingly rare these days, and Rhiannon was happy to take the submissive role, Monica was strict, but never cruel and dismissive. Things needed to be sorted out, she decided, getting to her feet.

She walked slowly down the hallway towards the front room. As she approached, she could hear a muffled voice. As angry as she was, Rhiannon would never have eavesdropped on Monica whilst she was on the phone. She returned to the kitchen, poured herself another cup of tea and sat and looked at the kitchen clock.

At six o'clock precisely, Rhiannon stood up again, ready to go into the front room to confront Monica. Then she heard the front room door open, and Monica came into the kitchen. Rhiannon smiled bravely at her lover.

"Mon, I'm so sorry for being so distracted lately," she began. "It's just that the news about mam threw me. I'm going to try to be a lot more focussed from now on."

Monica looked at her coldly. She was about to begin to reply when the phone rang.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Monica muttered, turning on her heel and returning to the front room to answer the call. She came back to the kitchen less than a minute later.

"It's for you," she said shortly, refusing to look at Rhiannon as she spoke.

"I'm sorry," apologised Rhiannon, hurrying to take the phone call, "I won't be long, I promise."

Monica muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Whatever," and stood by the kitchen table, tapping her foot impatiently. When Rhiannon hadn't re-appeared after five minutes, she tutted angrily and stalked off to the front room to see what the hold up was.

Monica came across an ashen faced Rhiannon, sitting in Monica's favourite armchair. The phone receiver was in her hands and she was crying silently. Rhiannon looked up as Monica came in.

"What now?" demanded Monica.

Rhiannon shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words just wouldn't come.

Another impatient tut from Monica.

"Are you going to tell me what's brought this hysteria on, or do I have to guess?" she said impatiently.

"It... it's m... ma... mam." Rhiannon managed to get out eventually. "She... she's had a br... a brain hemorrhage. They say she's critically ill."

Monica looked uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, "but you're here and she's there. In hospital, which is the best place for her. And we need to sort out our situation here. Now. Tonight."

Rhiannon looked at Monica in amazement.

"You are fucking kidding me," she said. "There is no situation here. My situation is with my mam. I'm going home to see her. Now. Tonight." Rhiannon deliberately repeated Monica's words.

"Don't be so bloody stupid," Monica spat. "It's at least four hours to your village from here. And you'll have to drive back. You've got school tomorrow, remember."

Rhiannon got to her feet and replaced the telephone receiver. She brushed past Monica, and went upstairs to wash her face. Monica's voice followed her up the stairs.

"If you leave this house tonight, don't bother coming back," she shouted. "You and I are finished. Do you hear me, you selfish cow!"

Rhiannon eventually came back downstairs. She was perfectly calm and composed. Monica was in the kitchen, and turned her back on Rhiannon when she came in.

Rhiannon waited for her to turn around, and when she didn't, addressed Monica's back.

"I'm off," she announced. "I'll phone school from home tomorrow and explain the situation. I'll be back on Saturday sometime, I hope. You're right. We need to sort ourselves out. But my priority is mam now. I'll see you on Saturday hopefully."

She reached out and touched Monica on the shoulder. Without bothering to reply, Monica shrugged her hand off and pushed past Rhiannon, not bothering to make eye contact. She rushed up the stairs and Rhiannon heard their bedroom door slam. She picked up her handbag from the kitchen table and made her way slowly to the garage. It was, as Monica had reminded her, a long drive home to Wales.

Rhiannon would always be grateful that she had taken the decision to drive home to Wales that fateful Thursday evening. When she looked back on her life many years later, she realised that it was that decision that helped shape her into the woman she became after Monica. It happened like this.

It was about half past nine in the evening when Rhiannon drove into the hospital grounds. She had no idea where she was going, and the reception desk was closed up. She wandered through a set of double doors and almost immediately bumped into a nurse.

"What are you doing here?" the nurse demanded. "Visiting time is over. This is not somewhere for the general public. I must ask you to leave, please."

Rhiannon sobbed.

"It's my mam," she said softly. "I was told she was seriously ill. I've driven all the way from Surrey this evening. Broken speed limits. I only want to know if she's ok."

The nurse looked at her closely.

"Rhiannon?" she asked and Rhiannon nodded.

"It's Carys," she said softly. "Carys Huws. We were in school together. Come with me. I'll take you to your mam."

Rhiannon sobbed as she saw her mam. Lying in a bed with tubes coming out of her mouth and her nose, Rachel-Ann resembled a one of those manikins that shops used to display clothes. Her skin had a waxy sheen, and Carys explained to her that a machine was helping Rhiannon's mother to breathe.

"If you come back in the morning," Carys went on, "I can arrange for you to speak to Rachel-Ann's consultant. He knows a lot more about your mother's condition than I do."

Thanking Carys, Rhiannon returned to her car and drove home to her mother's house. The spare key was under the flower pot in the porch, as usual, and Rhiannon let herself in.

Her bedroom hadn't changed one bit, and the exhausted Rhiannon undressed and slid into the cold single bed that she hadn't slept in for nearly two years. As tired as she was, she couldn't relax, and she tossed and turned, going over recent events in her head, until eventually she fell into a restless sleep.

When she woke it was almost nine o'clock according to her wristwatch. She had a quick shower and made herself a cup of tea in her mother's kitchen. Grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, she went out to her car and drove back to the hospital.

This time the reception desk was occupied by a staff member who listened to what Rhiannon had to say, and then picked up the phone. She spoke to someone in hushed tones and replaced the receiver.

"Someone will be with you shortly," she smiled. "Please take a seat."

A few minutes later, a nurse emerged through the double doors that Rhiannon had entered by last night. She came over to Rhiannon.

"Are you Rachel-Ann's daughter?" she asked kindly, and Rhiannon nodded, unable to speak.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news," the nurse continued, sitting beside Rhiannon and taking her hand. "Your mother passed away in the early hours of the morning. We rang the number on file, but there was no answer."

She looked at a sheet of paper in a file she was carrying, and recited the telephone number that had been used to try to contact Rhiannon, who recognised it immediately.

"That's my lov... um... my landlady's telephone number in Surrey," she said, blushing deeply. "I suppose she must have been in bed when you rang."

The nurse stood up.

"Would you like to see your mother?" she asked. and when Rhiannon nodded, she led her though the double doors and down a different corridor than the one she had followed Carys down the previous evening.

At a door marked 'Morgue', they paused, and the nurse took Rhiannon's hand again.

"Have a seat there for a few moments," she said kindly. "I'll come and get you when they've got your mother ready."

That sounded almost as if she had come to take her mam back home, Rhiannon thought. Her mind was in turmoil, and she had totally forgotten about contacting the school to explain her absence.

Rachel-Ann looked beautiful, Rhiannon thought. Her face had lost that waxy sheen, and all the pain, worry and confusion had gone from her mother. She was at peace at last. Rhiannon bent down and kissed her mother full on the lips.

"I'm so sorry, mam," she whispered. "Rest in Peace, my darling. I will always love you, and I'll never forget you."

She stood up straight and smiled bravely at the nurse, who was standing respectfully at a distance in the cold, clinical room.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," she said sincerely. "Please take all the time you need to say your farewells to your mother."

Rhiannon smiled sadly.

"We said goodbye years ago," she admitted. "I let my mother and my father down. It's too late to say sorry now." Two fat tears spilled out of her eyes, and rolled slowly down her cheeks. "What do I do now?" she asked helplessly.

The nurse came closer and pulled the sheet that was covering Rachel-Ann's body up over her face and head, obscuring her from view.

"Let's go somewhere more comfortable," she said kindly. "The relatives' room is just down the corridor on the right."

Sitting in the relatives' room, Rhiannon listened carefully as everything was explained to her. She would have to register her mother's death, contact an undertaker and arrange for a funeral service, if that is what she wanted. There was no rush, the kindly nurse informed her, but usually family members wanted the comfort of knowing that the process was underway, and they could begin to grieve. Rhiannon understood. She thanked the nurse and walked slowly back to her car.

On the drive back to her mother's house, Rhiannon mentally sketched out a plan. She parked the car outside the terraced house and let herself in.

"First things first," she said aloud, filling the kettle and switching it on. Whilst she waited for it to boil, she looked in the telephone directory, and made a note of the village funeral director's number. When she'd made herself a pot of tea, she sat down at the kitchen table and dialled the number.

It all went very smoothly. By the time Rhiannon had finished her tea, she had an appointment with the funeral director, who had helpfully given her the telephone number of the person to call to register Rachel-Ann's death. She needed to do that straightaway, and telling herself there was no time like the present, she left the house once more, and drove into the village to carry out her task.

Back home later that morning, Rhiannon found details of her mother's wishes in a file in the Welsh dresser in the middle room. Her will, it seemed was lodged with the local solicitor, and details of her funeral service, including the hymns to be sung, were also included in the neat bundle of instructions.

It took Rhiannon about three hours to work her way through a list of telephone calls, but by the time she was due to leave for her appointment with the funeral director, she had spoken to a solicitor and made an appointment to call in to have her mother's will read, and arranged to meet the Minister at the village chapel where her mother's funeral service was to be held.

By mid afternoon, everything was arranged, and Rhiannon sank into an armchair and cried her eyes out. She needed Monica more than ever now, and once more, she reached for the telephone. She'd apologise and assure her lover that she was on the way home, and that she'd never give Monica cause to be disappointed with her ever again.

But the phone was engaged. Then the front door bell rang, and Rhiannon went to answer it.

Rhiannon's visitor was Gwenno, and Rhiannon was so glad to see her old friend. She invited her in and told her the sad news. Gwenno gave Rhiannon a platonic hug, and promised to let as many of Rachel-Ann's customers as possible know about her passing.

"What's going to happen with the shop?" she asked, and Rhiannon shrugged.

"I'll put it up for sale probably," she answered. "I have my new life in Surrey, and... oh shit! School! I haven't phoned them to let them know why I'm not in today! Sorry, Gwenno. I need to make a phone call. Thanks for stopping by. I'll see you before I leave, I promise."

Rhiannon showed Gwenno out and then hurried to make her phone call. She looked at her wristwatch as she listened to the ringtone sounding in her ear. It rang and rang and then the answerphone kicked in, informing her that the school was now closed for the weekend, and the caller should ring back on Monday morning.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" swore Rhiannon, replacing the receiver, and immediately picking it up again to call Monica. The phone at home in Surrey was still engaged. Then the front door bell rang again.

It was a very small village, and news travelled fast. Rhiannon had a constant stream of visitors that afternoon and evening, all of them wanting to express their condolences, and to welcome Rhiannon back home. Almost all of them made reference to how much Rachel-Ann would be missed in the village, and how everyone was worried that their local shop would have to be taken over by someone to prevent it closing. It was dark by the time Rhiannon closed the front door after listening to Miss Pugh, the village school's head teacher's expression of sorrow at the loss of Rhiannon's mam. Miss Pugh also dropped a very unsubtle hint that she hoped that Rhiannon would be opening up and running her late mother's shop "after the funeral, of course." She also mentioned that she was retiring at the end of term, and that her replacement had already been interviewed and appointed.

It was too late to drive home to Monica now, and Rhiannon went upstairs, undressed and had a perfunctory wash and brushed her teeth before getting into bed and falling immediately asleep. She was exhausted, and when she woke the next morning, she felt as if she hadn't moved at all during the night. She was as stiff as a board.

Recollections came flooding back, and Rhiannon forced herself out of bed, and into the bathroom. She squatted on the toilet and pee'd, then got into the shower and allowed the cascade of hot water to restore some semblance of humanity. As she towelled herself dry, Rhiannon made a mental list of things to do before she drove back home to what she hoped would be Monica's welcoming arms.

Breakfast was a couple of slices of toast and two cups of tea. Rachel Ann could never be bothered with new fangled gadgets such as a dishwasher, so Rhiannon stood at the kitchen sink and washed up her breakfast dishes. Then she went upstairs, made her bed and put everything she's brought with her back into her small case. She went back downstairs, and sitting at the kitchen table, wrote out a message for all of Rachel Ann's customers.

"Due to a family bereavement, this shop will be closed until further notice. Rhiannon thanks everybody for their concern and kind wishes." she wrote in Welsh, in her best handwriting. She re-read her message and then wrote it out again, underneath the first one, this time in English.

Rhiannon went into the shop from the house, down the familiar connecting corridor, and sellotaped her message onto the front door of the shop, where it could be seen by all passers-by.

Then she returned to the house, switched everything off and locked the front door. She automatically put the key under the flower pot in the porch before tutting to herself in annoyance.

"Stupid cow," she muttered, retrieving the key. "Mam's not going to be needing this any more!"

She got into her car, and headed out of the village. She'd have to return for the funeral, of course, but she was sure that she could arrange for the sale of the house and the shop from home in Surrey. She drove slowly, looking around her at the familiar mountains and the scenery that she would never see again. Rhiannon had no intention of coming back to Wales to live.

The drive home was a nightmare. Normally it took about four hours, door to door. On this particular Saturday, an accident on the M4 motorway meant a diversion and Rhiannon's sat nav took her on the most meandering route before she was able to re-join the motorway. Then she got caught up in the biggest car park in England, as the M25 was known to millions of commuters. She crawled along for what seemed like hours, until eventually, she was able to exit the London orbital road and head for home. It was mid afternoon when she pulled into the drive of Monica's house.

Monica's car was in the garage, as usual, but parked in Rhiannon's space was an unfamiliar vehicle. Monica must have a visitor, Rhiannon thought, as she got out of her car and walked up to the front door. It refused to open when Rhiannon pushed the door handle down, so she got her keys out and let herself in.